Dreams Of Dragons
1044 Words
Xin didn't just sleep—he plummeted into dreams so vivid they felt more real than waking life.
He stood on a mountaintop that pierced the clouds. Below, an endless battlefield stretched across the horizon, armies clashing like waves against rocks. But these weren't ordinary soldiers. They flew through the air, hurled lightning from their hands, split the earth with their weapons.
Cultivators. Hundreds of them.
And standing beside Xin on the mountaintop was a man who radiated power like the sun radiated light. He wore crimson armor etched with golden dragons, and his eyes—his eyes were the same burning gold as the mark on Xin's forehead.
"Do you see them?" the man asked, his voice deep as thunder. "Do you see what we're protecting?"
"Who are you?" Xin managed.
"I am Longwei. The First Dragon Lord. And you..." He turned to face Xin fully. "You carry what remains of my bloodline. Diluted through three hundred years, weak and untrained, but still... mine."
"I don't understand. Why me? Why now?"
Longwei gestured to the battlefield below. "Because the cycle repeats. The demons rise. The kingdoms fall. And the dragons must answer." His expression grew somber. "I failed, young one. I let pride blind me, let politics divide us. When the final battle came, the dragon lords stood alone—and we fell."
The scene shifted. Xin saw the same man, older now, surrounded by enemies. Not demons, but humans. Cultivators in imperial colors. A betrayal.
"The Emperor feared our power," Longwei continued. "So he turned the kingdom against us. One by one, my brothers and sisters fell. I was the last." He touched his chest, where a spear had pierced through the dragon armor. "With my dying breath, I scattered our bloodline across the kingdom. Hid it in common folk, in servants and farmers and merchants. I knew someday, when the kingdom faced its darkest hour, a dragon would rise again."
"But I'm not ready," Xin protested. "I don't know anything about fighting or cultivation or—"
"Then learn." Longwei's voice was sharp now. "The Nine Heavenly Gates await you. Each one will transform you, make you stronger. But the path is dangerous, boy. Many have tried and failed. Their bodies couldn't handle the dragon essence." He stepped closer, and his golden eyes bore into Xin's soul. "You opened the First Gate through pure instinct. That buys you nothing. True mastery requires discipline, sacrifice, and pain. Lots of pain."
"That's really inspiring," Xin muttered.
Despite himself, Longwei smiled. "You have spirit. Good. You'll need it." He raised his hand, and knowledge flooded into Xin's mind—cultivation techniques, combat forms, the intricate pathways of spiritual energy through the body. It was overwhelming, like trying to drink from a waterfall.
"The First Gate is Awakening," Longwei explained as visions danced through Xin's consciousness. "You've opened your channels, but they're crude, unstable. You must refine them through meditation and practice. When you can circulate qi through your entire body without conscious thought, you'll be ready for the Second Gate."
"And what's the Second Gate?"
"Foundation. Where you build your core—the reservoir of power that will fuel everything else. But we're getting ahead of ourselves." Longwei placed a hand on Xin's shoulder, and suddenly Xin felt the weight of three hundred years pressing down on him. All the battles fought, all the sacrifices made, all the knowledge preserved. "Remember this, Dragon Heir: power without purpose is just destruction. Why are you fighting? Not for the Emperor, not for the kingdom—why are YOU fighting?"
Xin opened his mouth, but no answer came.
Longwei nodded as if he'd expected this. "Find your reason. Because when the real trials begin, only your reason will keep you alive."
The dream shattered like glass.
---
Xin jolted awake, gasping. Sunlight streamed through the windows—he'd slept through the entire night. His body ached in places he didn't know could ache, but the exhaustion from yesterday was gone, replaced by that same warm current of energy flowing through him.
Qi. Spiritual energy. Dragon blood.
Still hard to believe.
A knock sounded at the door. Before Xin could answer, it swung open and a servant entered carrying a tray of food. Not just any food—steamed buns, roasted duck, fresh fruit, tea that smelled like heaven. The kind of meal Xin used to serve to nobles while his own stomach growled.
"Compliments of His Majesty," the servant said, setting the tray on a table. He bowed—actually bowed—to Xin. "Master Zhou requests your presence in the training courtyard within the hour, Lord Xin."
Lord Xin. That would take getting used to.
After the servant left, Xin devoured the food like a starving wolf. Whatever the trial yesterday had done to his body, it had left him ravenous. He was halfway through his third steamed bun when another knock came.
This time, Princess Mei entered without waiting for permission.
She wore training clothes instead of her formal robes—practical pants and a fitted tunic that didn't hide the lean muscle beneath. Her hair was tied back in a warrior's braid, and her sword hung at her hip. She looked Xin up and down critically.
"You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too, Princess."
"It's afternoon. You slept for sixteen hours." She tossed him a bundle of clothes. "Put these on. If you're going to train, you can't do it in servant's rags."
Xin unfolded the bundle—training clothes similar to hers, but marked with a small dragon emblem over the heart. "You're helping me train?"
"Someone has to make sure you don't kill yourself. Master Zhou is brilliant, but he's old. He can teach you theory and cultivation techniques." Her hand rested on her sword hilt. "I'll teach you how to actually fight."
"I thought you didn't want me here."
"I don't." Princess Mei's expression was hard to read. "But my father believes in you. Master Zhou believes in you. And despite everything, I believe in the dragon mark. So that means I believe in you too. Even if you are impossibly annoying."
Xin grinned. "Was that almost a compliment?"
"Don't push your luck. Get dressed. We have work to do."
- Writer
